It Happened One Summer
by Vita T
Summary: A summer in Sydney, Australia sounds beautiful right? For Rory Gilmore it's oh so wrong! Follow Rory, and a few of her classmates, on this summer adventure that turns everything upside down.
1. Prologue

A/N: Okay, so this is my first Gilmore Girls fanfic, and I've been really developing it for almost a year or so which is why Tristan is still in it, as well as the fact that Chad Michael Murray is scrumptious and Trory was definitely undervalued on that show. This is an AU story because of some stuff that you'll see for yourself. But there are a few things you need to know..

1) Tish: there could be a possible vignette or POV or something on Paris and Tristan (for those who aren't Tish…you'll find out what she's talking about when you read it), but I'm not sure. Let me get through this first ;P)

2) Yes I will give you the story to P/R's relationship (not slash!) in the near future to those who have emailed me about it.

3) Some people have emailed me and asked me if this idea was based on a Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen film, and to tell you the truth: no. It wasn't based on that at all. But, I decided to see what the movie was all about (I got four emails asking me about it), so I brought _Winning London_ yesterday and I could see that there were some similarities (by the way I might be a ditz for saying this but I loved the movie! Those guys were hot and isn't one of them in that new movie with Brittany Murphy?). I guess if you've seen the movie you'll know what they are talking about. I actually got this idea after watching my prized tapes of the Sydney 2002 Summer Olympics Opening and Closing ceremonies. I just wanted to do a story about Australia. It's a beautiful place and I wanted to use what I knew about it for a story.

4) Will there be L/L? Maybe…I'm not sure how much of L/L I want in the story at this point, so you'll have to wait and see :wink:! And for the record, the whole almost marrying Max thing happened and Sookie and Jackson are married and preggers (That's probably the only **major** things that's current to this past season.).

5) Distribution: Sure, if you ask me. But beware, I'm always going back and proofreading and tidying up each chapter, so it will almost always look different until I am completely satisfied that there are no mistakes. So if you ask me, I'll let you know whether or not I've finished getting all the kinks out. 

6) Lastly, I don't own Gilmore Girls, they belong to the people who made them, and just to be on the safe side, any similarity to the Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, _Winning London _is completely coincidental and I am in no way trying to steal the idea. I don't own anything but a computer and some old magazines so please, no suing. Thanks to all of those who have reviewed so far. All A/Ns will be short and sweet on the next go round.

Enjoy!

**__**

________________________________________________________________

Prologue: Summer Frights

There are some things in life that are much easier to admit than others. Like, the fact that you'd rather watch _I Love Lucy_than write that three page essay due on human comprehension. But there are other things that you just can't admit, especially when you promised that hell would freeze over before you would even consider it.

And that's exactly what happened to me last year. I was forced to take a good look at myself and my feelings and what I wanted to do with them. For once, I wasn't in control of the situation. A situation I had for so long tried to ignore and-to no avail-it happened anyway.

Maybe you should know that everyone else knows that my hate for Tristan Dugray was something I had harbored the moment he first met me and called me Mary. You could even say that my hatred ran deeper than any Star's Hollow resident's disdain for…well, anything that hasn't been Star's Hollow approved. I couldn't explain it then, and I surely can't now, but this hatred for this boy was something I had never felt for anyone before. He made my first couple of months at Chilton (my high school) hell and I could never forgive him for adding stress to my already caffeine enhanced life.

But wait. This is a story that I couldn't possibly skip ahead to and I think that I really am. What I need to do is start from the beginning, because you'll only get what I'm saying if you know where I'm coming from. The funny thing is that for so long I had denied everything up until that point but, my whole life changed in the course of two minutes. Like, it's a cliché, but it's one that rang true in my case. 

How many teenage tales begin with, "It started during summer vacation…?" Too many to count. Which is why I'm taking a higher road. 

Summer vacation was starting; well, except for me of course…


	2. Stressful Saturdays

_**Chapter 1: Stressful Saturdays…**_

Brrriiinnnggg

That's the sound of my alarm clock going ever so loudly on a not-so-bright Saturday morning.

As if that wasn't enough, my mom had already had her morning cup of fresh java, so she was hell-bent on waking me up.

"Get up, get up!" my beautiful, but slightly deranged, mother Lorelai (my namesake) Gilmore said brightly upon entering my room. She began singing in this awful pitch, which was unfortunately, her true voice (no one could ever accuse us Gilmore girls of being singers). "It's time to start another glorious day! The bird are-a chirping and everyone is singing-"

"To be up is to be dead. I'd rather be down," I groaned, throwing the covers over my head as she plopped down on my bed.

"No missy. You interrupted my singing repertoire so that definitely gets you no extra sleep time. Besides, Mother Sunshine tells me you have to be up today because you have class at school."

Deciding the best course of action was to acquiesce; I shifted my blanket and came from under my covers to face my mother. "Arghh! This is the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life, besides watch the Britney Spears special on a full stomach."

Mom shrugged and smiled. "I told you not to option for cheesy nachos _and_pizza before the child prostitution festivities began."

I rolled my eyes and tried to pull the covers over my body once again for some peace and sanity. "Whatever. Can you please tell me why I agreed to do this on a Saturday? Because I've decided that I value my sleep more than ever."

"Well, number one, it looks good on your oh-so-already-lily-white transcripts for Harvard. And number two; you said anything to get you away from reminders of you and Dean.

Just the thought of that name sent me into a gross state of depression.

Dean was my first boyfriend. Ever. And over the end of Spring Break we had decided to call it quits after two years of togetherness. I still can't figure out what happened, other than we grew apart. But here's the weird thing: I can't really explain it, but there's this feeling that you get when you know that something isn't meant to be anymore. I mean, at the moment, you needed this "something"-it was the right thing for the both of you-but then you didn't need it so much after awhile. Well, two years later we grew apart (or rather I grew apart). And deep down, I had known for a while that there was something out there waiting for me. Something that was supposed to last longer, I guess. And, for me, Dean was in no way part of the equation.

Anyway, my whole summer was devoted to moving on. And that's why I was taking a summer class at Chilton. This year, it was all about psychology 101. And already, I was regretting my decision. My best friend-who used to be my biggest enemy-at Chilton, Paris, had cajoled me into taking it with her. She convinced me it was the perfect thing to help me get over Dean.

"_All I'm saying is that you wouldn't even remotely be contemplating the failed efforts of your relationship with Dean if you had an extracurricular activity to occupy your mind and time," _Paris said with such conviction, I thought I was trying to be brainwashed to join an occult.

"_What's the point of summer vacation if I have to spend it pouring over crazy people's problems? I have enough of my own."_

"_Hence the reason that you should partake in this course! You could analyze your own demented self and do it pro bono! Plus, Harvard nods at those potential students who make efforts to stay educated over the summer as opposed to numbing their brains to the teeny bopping world of NSYNC and Dawson's Creek reruns."_

"_Hey, I like that show!"_

So after much useless and unimportant banter, I finally gave in and promised I'd take the class with her. And now, my mother was all for this change of scenery too. According to her: "_Think about it, you'll be embarking on a new adventure. And who knows, you may be even be able to figure how your grandparents tick in Crazy People 101. Something, I have tried to do for the past twenty-eight years but have failed miserably._"

I let out an exasperated sigh before rolling over. "Fine. But if you give me just five more minutes, I'll buy you an extra cup of Luke's coffee."

My mother's eyes glazed over at the thought. For coffee is her one true obsession-besides David Bowie. "Okay kid. You got yourself a deal. But five minutes and that's all. Then you have to make me proud."

"Now's not the time to start acting like a mother, Lorelai!" I shouted as she headed for the stairs, her laughter resounding in the hallway.

Fortunately, I arrived to class not only on time, but an hour early. Apparently, class started at eight o'clock as opposed to nine so I had wasted a perfectly good hour of sleep. Unfortunately, however, I ran into the BMOC: Mr. Tristan Dugray himself and he was heading in my direction, which meant regrettably for me, that my breakfast would be heading in another direction opposite my stomach. Just when my day had had been going considerably well…

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Mary. Where's your little lamb? I thought it was supposed to follow you to school," his smooth voice passed through my ears as I was pulling books out of my locker.

The thing about Tristan is that he is rich, and popular and extremely good looking. The sad part about Tristan is that he is all of these things in excess and he knows it. And if he wasn't so arrogant, I was sure that he could actually be okay. I mean, we seemed to be kind of trying to get along towards the end of last year. But that was before we kissed at a party (I really did hate him then too, but that was just momentary insanity), and before I had gotten back with Dean (the second time around). And then he went back to being a jerk again.

"You know, the way to a girl's heart is not calling her the wrong name."

"Gee, I didn't know that I was potential enough to have your precious heart," he said smugly and inched closer backing me into a locker. Tristan was all legs and torso. There wasn't a thing on him that was flawed or slightly out of place. At least not visibly. So, I could never mock his appearance or his choice of clothing. And of course he always smelled great which was part of the reason why I hated him so much. Someone so mean and callous should not look all charming and princely and smell like deliciously good. It's just wrong.

"You're not even potential enough to stand in the line," I threw at him, still determined to have the upper hand in this on going battle.

"Ooh, score one for Mary. I thought that prissies like you didn't do jokes."

"And I thought people like you could at least afford a few lessons with Ms. Manners-I mean with all that money you have. You can get her advice for fifty cents if you just buy a newspaper."

Tristan threw his head back and laughed, which kind of threw me off. I was attempting but failing miserably to get out of his hold while he sent himself into hysterics. "Tristan, this is the new millennium. You don't have to try to pin a girl down to get play. Prostitution is perfectly normal these days. If you're looking for a new toy may I suggest Las Vegas? All toys are legal there."

I was finally able to wiggle myself from his grip and I went back to shutting my locker, thinking the silent treatment would make him go away.

"Mary let's cut through all of the witty comments and get to the thick of things. You've been avoiding me lately. Is it because of our kiss?" he asked as he leaned casually against the locker, his blue eyes staring into the back of mine. I don't know how I knew that, but I could feel them.

As usual-any conversation beyond three seconds with Tristan called for it-I rolled my eyes. I chose to ignore the latter part of his statement and answered, "How could I be avoiding you when I never talk to you in the first place? Seriously, give Courtney Love back her cocaine."

I didn't expect him to move so fast, but before I knew it, his arms were wrapped around my waist and his breath was tickling my ear. I tried to twirl out of his hold, but wound up facing him in his arms; my eyes staring into his ice blue eyes. "If you don't let go I'm going to have to yell fire," I said warningly.

"Oh really?" he said with a smirk. "Did you ever hear of the boy that cried wolf?"

But he was looking at me so intensely that I couldn't break away from his gaze. And there was this thought that was suddenly running around in my head like a madman: Have I ever been looked at like that before by anyone, including Dean? Why was I even thinking about Dean or anyone else, for that matter, at a time like this? Why wasn't I breaking away? Why was I comparing Tristan Dugray's stare to my ex's? And did I see Tristan's normally rakish guard down at the moment? Not possible. I mean, did he actually look a little vulnerable at the moment? Nah…

I was trying to break the contact that my mind so desperately wanted, but my body for some reason wouldn't allow. "Look Tristan, I really have this thing about personal space. Maybe you should give me some."

His lips moved closer to mine, but I still couldn't get myself to move. "Yeah?" he said all huskily (I know!). "Well, who's stopping you from moving out of the way?"

And that's when it happened.

Somewhere, between my sudden silence and his last remark, Tristan had lowered his lips to mine. I was monetarily stunned. And for a moment, I gave in. It had to be the kiss heard around the world, because the second his lips touched mine, this primal groan (I still can't figure out where it came from) rose from my throat. I let one of his hands caress my back while the other played in my hair. I let my tongue tentatively touch his. But it wasn't my fault, you see! It had been some months since I had been in a position to kiss someone. And my mouth was feeling a little neglected. It's like having the mini Reese Cups. You know you should only have one or two, but you can't help but have six or seven. It's addictive.

A locker door slammed, and the moment was shattered. I didn't want to know what happened and didn't really care at that point. All I wanted to do was run away to Slovakia and make hand baskets for the rest of my life. I pulled away quickly and turned around so fast that my books slid through my usually steady hands. I had forgotten I had been holding them the whole time.

"Rory I-"

"No," I interrupted desperate to stop the conversation before it started. "I can't think about this right now. I don't want to, because nothing really happened," I claimed as I begin to pick up the books. If I didn't get out of there at that very moment, I was afraid I would do something I might regret. And I had no idea what that "something" was.

Tristan chose to be all chivalrous at that moment and reached down to help me pick up the books. "No!" I shouted, "I don't need your help. You've done enough."

"Something did happen. We kissed. Again."

I stopped immediately and gave him the most indignant look I could scrounge up, praying that I wasn't blushing. "I did _not_kiss you. You kissed me! And, If I might say, it was very presumptuous of you."

"Right. So I guess the only thing you can do is live in denial and ignore the truth of the matter. I mean, why would you want to admit kissing a scumbag like me?"

I didn't expect to see hurt in his eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. Triumph, definitely. But hurt? Uh oh. And now he was trying to regain his usual "charm" by seeming uncaring and totally insensitive to other people's feelings. Once more, the shell had been securely reattached to his skin.

Can someone tell me again why I chose to go to school on a perfectly good Saturday?

I took a deep breath and launched into my defense mode. "Tristan, don't play innocent with me. I just want to point out that your Tad the Cad reputation speaks for itself okay? I'm not one of your bimbo cheerleaders who hang on to your every word because you have some looks and a sizeable bank account. That does _not_impress me."

Tristan was about to say something and it as going to be pretty from the look in his eyen. Then, a voice that I used to despise, was now like music to my ears. "Oh Rory, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

That was the trite sound of one Paris Gellar, one of two of my best friends (the other being my nutty friend Lane), coming around the corner. She walked towards us with her purposeful stride. For the moment, I was safe and I could forget about what had just happened.

Paris is totally unaware of how she pretty she is. She's got this gorgeous, healthy, and even chestnut brown hair that flows down her back and pretty blue eyes. She could be a total knockout if she didn't underestimate her looks all the time. And she's also smart. God, is she smart. She's also a very straightforward person. If there is something on her mind, Paris will tell you. If she doesn't like you, Paris will tell you. As a matter of fact, when I first got to Chilton, she made it perfectly clear that this school was her domain and she owned it lock, stock, and barrel. And she disliked me from the moment she met me, while I was totally willing to befriend anyone (I already felt left out because everyone in the school already knew each other and were super rich). She saw me as competition and reminded me at every moment that I really didn't belong at such a worthy school. We competed over everything; the school paper, top grades, essay contests. But by the end of last year, we figured that two heads were better than one and began to forge a friendship and a deadly duo for the top grades at Chilton. One of our mutual friends, Kiana once told us that we were trying to "hold the school on lock down" in the academic area.

Now, we are the best of friends, and while we aren't the type of girls to giggle and paint each other's nails during sleepovers (we prefer discussing Chekov and Nietzsche to all of that; I'm more girly with Lane, my other best friend who lives in Star's Hollow) we definitely have a lot in common and we are pretty protective of each other. Such a drastic change from less than a year ago.

I brought my attention back to the scene before me.

"Tristan," Paris said curtly without looking his way.

Of course, Tristan wasn't going leave it at that. He stood up to meet Paris' eye. "Hello, _sis._" I didn't see your father this morning. Was he busy diddling the maid? I do hope he's well."

"Mmm…he's splendid thank you," she said coolly. "But if he's having any extramarital relations, I think we all know why that is. By the by, how is your skank-whore of an alcoholic mother? Shriveling, I presume."

Tristan made a tsking noise. "Such bitterness from someone so young but, nothing a good psychiatrist couldn't help you with. They are doing wonderful things with Ritalin these days."

"No thanks," Paris said a little too sweetly which meant that she was setting him up for a big one. "I'll leave the psychoanalysis to the shrink that you, your mother, and your psychotic juvenile delinquent of a brother share. By the way, how is Justin? The last I heard he had stabbed his cat five times because he thought it was a mummy coming to suck out his brains. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'not to sharp around the edges' doesn't it? Oops! Bad choice of words." Tristan scowled and gave Paris a rather rude finger.

Okay, so you know that there is no love loss between those two. But it wasn't always that way. There was a time when Paris would have followed Tristan around the Ritz-Carlton if he asked her to, but after he told her she wasn't interested, she backed off completely. Then, something crazy and completely unexpected happened. Kind of like a kooky Woody Allen movie except it had more horror elements to it. It turned out that both Paris' dad and Tristan's mother were having affairs: with each other! It had been going on for the past four or five years. And when that came out, much to the dismay of the moral New England society and to the delighted telephone lines of all New England society, their parents got divorces only to marry each other (well, Paris' dad and Tristan's mom anyhow). Now they have to live together as step siblings when they both blame the other's parent for the break up of their unhappy happy (If it doesn't make sense to you, then take a number and stand in line) homes. Never mind the fact that they choose to live with each other because Paris prefers her father to her mother and Tristan likes his mother more than his father. Whatever the case may be, it's left nothing but bitter feelings on both sides. Since then, they've vowed to destroy each other.

But today was not going to be the day, so I stepped in. "Okay, ladies put the claws away. We have twenty minutes until class. Paris, did you have something to tell me?" Her gaze was still locked ferociously on Tristan's equally menacing one as if she was silently killing him with her evil glare. I started to nudge her on. "Let's go Paris."

As I grabbed her arm and took her around the corner, I heard Tristan say under his breath, "This isn't over Mary."

"Seriously Rory, I don't even know why you were even talking to him. He's such a jerk. Did you hear what he said about my father?" Paris said as we walked towards our class.

I did my best to stay rational despite the fact that inwardly I was glad she told him off. "Paris, you called his mother a skank-whore alcoholic. I think you won the verbal death match on that one."

Paris smiled. "I did kind of stick it to him didn't I? But moving on to my news. I just found out something that is going to make your day."

My ears perked up. "Oh? Do tell."

"Well, I was going by the principal's office to complain about there being not being a rule that forbids talking in the library, when I noticed this." She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.

"'**This year, the Chilton Board of Advisors has made their decision for the four model students who will participate in the seventh annual Jr. Goodwill of the World Competition. This will allow the students a chance to facilitate their speech skills, analytical power, problem solving abilities, and team work ethics while competing against other participating schools from different countries and ethnic backgrounds. The competition is based on the model of the UN located in New York, New York. Delegates will represent a country and speak on major issues that are current to their country's situation. The country, that can receive the most votes for their solutions and has the highest score of overall performances (there will be five judges watching for proper social conduct, team effort, workability in your solutions, among other criteria) will win, and receive a monetary prize as well as a chance to represent their winning ideas at a bona fide UN assembly, televised on CNN. This year's assembly will be held in Sydney, Australia.**'"

I looked from the paper to a beaming Paris. "But what does that have to do with us? Most likely they picked members from the debate team."

Then I remembered something.

Paris _was_on the debate team. She tapped the paper impatiently. "Read the rest of it."

I gazed at where I left off. "'**This years competitors were chosen based on their academic achievement and extracurricular involvement with the school. The delegates chosen to represent Chilton Preparatory Academy, for this year's competition are as follows: Paris Gellar, Tristan Dugray, Aliana Douglas, and Rory Gilmore.**'"

I totally didn't even notice that my name was on the paper. It was a flaky moment on my part but I was so excited for Paris. "Oh my gosh, Paris! That is so great for you. Congratulations." I reached to give her a hug, but she jumped back and stared at me with disgust.

"Gilmore, are you daft? Did you not read all the names?"

The realization that my name was on the paper-when I gave it a second glance-finally set in. My name was on the list. _My_name was on the list! "Get out. This can't be me. They want me to go to Australia?…We're going to Australia!"

Alright, so before you jump on my case, I _did_ know about the whole trip to Australia thing. How could I not? They had announced it at the beginning of the year, encouraging us all to be in top form as the Chilton Board of Advisors (mostly made of Chilton alumni) would be doing daily inspections of the school to see which students would be eligible to go to Sydney. Everything was based on their observations so no one had to put their name in it or anything. But I admit that while I was hoping for a chance to go, it had totally slipped my mind that we were even involved in this. There was just so much other stuff going on in my personal life that I had pushed it to the back of my mind. So it really did come as a complete and utter shock to me at first. Who wouldn't be? How many teenagers can say they've been to Australia?

By now, both of us were jumping up and down and hugging each other (a little unusual for both of us as we are pretty reserved in nature). "Think about it Rory," Paris said still hold on to my arms, "We'll be in the most gorgeous place, soaking up the sun while we add to our accomplishments for our Harvard application. Can you understand how wonderful this is going to be?"

My joy lasted for about three seconds, and then, realization number two kicked in. I looked at the paper once more. "Wait. Tristan got selected too."

Paris snatched the paper from my hand and read the list. "I can't believe I overlooked such a horrible blunder. This has to be a mistake. I mean, it's _Tristan_."

I didn't think it was the right time to point out that while he was most definitely a pain in the butt, Tristan was pretty darn smart. That, however, would have only gotten her even more Baby Jane-like. I glanced at my watch and decided to wait at least until class was over to start the mud slinging.

"Come on. Let's go to class. And close your mouth before a fly makes a home in there." She followed me down the hall, silently, but with a pout the whole way. Since the trip and the whole "non-kiss," everything seemed to be going fast. I didn't have time to sit down and evaluate everything to pieces like I normally do. But this was one of the first times in my life where I gladly welcomed the class bell.

Tristan strolled in as soon as the bell went off and took a seat right behind me, which only ruffled my feathers more. Number one, it didn't occur to me that he would be taking a summer class because I thought that trust fund babies spent the summer cruising the Mediterranean on their yachts. (It didn't even occur to me to ask him what he was doing at Chilton on the first weekend of vacation; I just assumed he was there clean out his locker). And number two, he totally knows that I hate him and he just had to sit in back of me with all the empty seats available to him. It didn't help that he was quiet the whole time. Seriously, by the time class was over, he had succeeded in annoying the hell out of me. He hadn't even pulled his usual school boy antics like pulling my hair, and blowing in my ear. And he was doing it on purpose. He was trying to throw me off the scent. If going on the trip of a lifetime meant being in Dugray's company for more than a second, I was beginning to believe that this wasn't a dream trip at all. More like a nightmare.

The bell was about to ring, when an announcement came over the speaker. "Will the following students please report to Dean Whitley's office: Lorelai Gilmore, Tristan Dugray, Paris Gellar, and Aliana Douglas."

Our teacher, Mr. Sampson, let us out and we left quickly and quietly. When Dean Whitley tells you to come, there is no lollygagging.

Paris glared accusingly at Tristan as he shut the door behind him. "So, I suppose you were aware that your name is on the list to be a Goodwill Jr. Delegate."

Tristan just smirked and bowed. "Of course. I knew three weeks ago who was going to be in."

"More like you were being nosy like the little girl you are," Paris said smartly.

Tristan shrugged and proceeded in front of us, but not without adding, "And on your best day you could only wish to be half the woman that you claim that I am,"

As was becoming the mandatory look of the day, a scowl crossed Paris' lips and her eye began twitching violently. "I hope you know that there has to be some mistake. You could not possibly secure that much brain power in your cranium that you would be chosen for something as important as this. You have the attention span of a pop star."

"Whatever," was Tristan's only reply.

But Paris wasn't finished. "I mean, the least you could do was try to take yourself out of the bidding so we don't have to see your rotten face everyday. It's bad enough I have to see your mother every morning of my life."

At that moment he put his arms around us, both Paris and me struggling to get out of his grip, 'Now, now," he said steering us towards the west corridor. "And deprive you two beautiful ladies the joy of having my handsome face and cunning mind around?"

The dean's office couldn't have come fast enough for me. Dean Whitley's assistant was sitting at her desk, astute and practical as ever, and guided us into his office with a quick smile, then shut the door behind her. In the room was the intimidating Dean Whitley in all his glory, sitting behind his big Chippendale desk. He believed that all work and no play, made students at Chilton very successful, and gave the school a good name in the process. He was the kind of man that didn't stand for foolishness, so crossing the line once was a line too many crossed.

Aliana Douglas, a girl whom, I wasn't familiar with, but had seen a few times in passing, was already sitting in a chair waiting for us. I knew she was on the debate team with Paris (Paris thought she was cool). She seemed nice enough. She had a cropped hairstyle and a quiet look about her. And she looked surprisingly young for a girl who was going to be junior. She smiled at me tentatively, waved to Paris, and returned her attention to Dean Whitley.

The dean put his glasses on and moved into his desk, his expression a serious one. "First, I would like to congratulate you students on winning the competition to be the Junior Goodwill delegates. It was a very long and arduous process, but the judges have assured me that they have chosen the right people to represent Chilton. I hope they are right."

Paris took the opportunity to speak up or, brown nose-depending on your view point. "Dean Whitley, I just want to say that I am truly grateful for this opportunity that you are bestowing upon us. And we won't let you down."

The dean looked at her with what could have almost resembled a smile if the corners of his mouth weren't slightly turned down. "As usual Miss Gellar, I don't worry about you. You have always been nothing short of an exemplary student. Always a good head upon your shoulders, I've always said. However-I mean this when I say this-and this is for all of you; you are representing Chilton. I expect you to put your best effort on the table. There shouldn't be any tribulations happening throughout the course of this extremely rare experience. This is a competition first, educational second, and not recreational lastly. This excursion is _not_I repeat, _not_ a recreational one. And that goes particularly for you Mr. Dugray."

Tristan looked slightly uncomfortable at his name being mentioned and turned a light shade of red. I looked to Paris who was smiling-a bit evilly I might say- as her stepbrother was being put on the spot by the dean. "I expect you to be on your best behavior. I had-or have rather-my own reservations about allowing you to go on this important trip, but the board feels that your talents in speech, World Studies, and social decorum, are excellent and make up for past inappropriate conduct."

Tristan rolled his eyes at Dean Whitley's last statement. "In other's words, they want us to win."

"Precisely," Dean Whitley said without any hesitation or qualms. "For the past six years we have won this competition and I'm expecting that this year will be no different. And to win, we must have the best. Now," he said with finality on the subject," we must discuss your class for this summer. As always, the school waives the credits of the participants who go to the Jr. Goodwill meetings should they have summer sessions. However, if you decide that you still want to take the course, we will provide with you with a tutor or you have the option of taking it during fall semester as a third elective, which as you are well aware we usually don't give to students. Now, are there any questions before we end this meeting?"

I raised my hand and waited for his acknowledgement. "Yes, Miss Gilmore?"

"Uh…will our parents be coming with us or a chaperone?"

"You will be accompanied by a chaperone as the trip is sponsored by the school. The chaperone will also act as advisor for the group. Any problems or anything required will be given to you via your advisor. He-or she-will also be there to monitor your behavior and keep you on the footpath to victory. A complete list of what you will need and all of the events taking place during the course of your stay has been mailed to your home and you should be receiving it some time this week."

Aliana had decided to speak for the first time since the three of us had entered the dean's office. "Dean Whitley, I was just wondering, how will we have time to even prepare for this?"

"Good question Ms. Douglas. You leave for Sydney on the seventeenth of August. Today is June 9, which means that you have a little over two months to start preparing. That reminds me," he slid back from his desk and opened a drawer. A bunch of papers appeared in his hand and he began to give us what looked like a packet. "Here is what will be expected of you before you leave for the contest. This is why we are exempting you from your classes this summer. You will spend the entire summer devoting yourselves slavishly to this project." He wasn't suggesting that's what we do, by the way. He was telling us that we would be doing just that.

I looked at my packet, my eyes bulging at the thickness of it. I looked at Paris who was happily pouring over the pages like it was a steamy Nora Robert's novel. Aliana was studying it as well, but Tristan had already thrown his in his backpack. The dean closed his drawer and moved into his desk once more and said, "Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment. Congratulations once again."

The four of us got up promptly, thanked the dean once more, and headed for the door.

Paris grabbed my arm once the door was shut and squealed-something very non-characteristic of her. "Okay, we're in, but now we have a lot of work to do. This means that we have to pull some serious research before we leave. I'm thinking that we need to powwow at each other's places everyday for the next sixty days or so. We can do strategy and-"

I must say that the rest of us looked a little scared of Paris at the moment as she went into Thelma mode. But only Tristan had the guts to say what was most likely on our minds, though not as tactful. "Paris, calm down. We have like two months before we have to go anywhere. I don't see why we have to go anywhere. Why not give it a rest for at least a day?"

Paris cut her gaze to his and sliced him down with her eyes. He actually backed into the door slightly. "Look, for whatever twisted reason this summer, God has allowed you to hang with people whose intellect doesn't include what shade of lipstick Cameron Diaz was wearing at an award show, or whether Britney is, like, a virgin, or something! And that's great. A blessing, even from my perspective. Bully for you. But if you are even remotely thinking about sabotaging _my_ competition, then you are gravely mistaken. We are going to win this even if it kills you."

Once again, it was time for me to play referee. "Look guys, let's not go though this again. We'll be spending an entire summer together. If we start fighting now, then we won't be doing a good job of anything. Cool out."

Tristan seemed to stare at his step sister for a long time and Paris, refused to break the trance. I sighed. "I want a truce. Right _now._"

They looked at me as if the most horrible thing that I could ask of them. "Fine," he said. "I was merely pointing out that we don't want to over fry our brains. We have time."

"No, Tristan. We don't. Paris is right. We have to start now. Some schools have been training for this all year. And we only have about two months. If we don't start research now, then we're not going to look prepared," Aliana finally spoke. I smiled at her and mouthed grateful "thank you" for being brave enough to step up to the fray.

Paris stepped up to Tristan. I thought she was going to slap him or something, but she didn't. She said, "If we don't win this thing, then you better ask your mother to make funeral arrangements now, because I will flay you, kill you, then serve you with your mother's morning tequila. Don't screw this up."

He gave her a mock salute then rolled his eyes. As she turned to walk out of the office she added, "We're all meeting at my house tonight at seven. Be there or be dead."

Aliana made her goodbye to us with a promise to be at Paris' and then scurried off. As always, Paris knew how to leave me in the most uncomfortable situations, without her knowing it of course. That left me to stare at Tristan, which suddenly had me feeling like I was Riding Hood and he was with the Cheshire grin.

"Well, now Rory, that gives us a chance to talk."

I backed out of the office-he only followed me-and avoided his eyes. He actually said my name. That couldn't be good, could it? Somehow that annoyed, scared, and angered me more than anything he had ever done or said to me. I turned around quickly and began to walk away. "I have to go. Um…I forgot to ask Paris something. See you tonight!" I shouted as I ran down the hall.

"Rory!" he called, but I was already out the door and running to Paris to ask her for a ride.


	3. Bring Saturday Confessionals

_**Chapter 2:…Bring Saturday Confessionals (Well, Almost)**_

"Paris! Wait up," I yelled as my friend made her way to her new Volvo. Usually I was never happy about riding in a car with Paris as she's the most cautious driver in the world. She makes Gus Griswald from _Recess_ look like a wild child when it comes to safety. The poor girl actually comes to a complete stop when stopping at a stop sign! It's enough to make anyone crazy. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. It was either Paris or Tristan. Tortoise driving was looking good to me at the moment.

Paris opened her car door, threw her books in the car and then turned to face me. "What's wrong?"

"I was just wondering if you would give me a ride home today. My mom has the Jeep and I told her not to worry about picking me up. Is it okay?" I looked over my shoulder to see if Tristan had followed me outside, but there was no one there.

"Sure," she said with a nonchalant flick of the wrist. "Get in."

I gave my thanks and then walked around the passenger's side. As I shut the door and Paris fastened her seat belt, I noticed that Tristan had finally made it outside. I wasn't sure if he noticed us or not, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Paris was already pulling out of the lot. However, she noticed him and sucked her teeth and get this, she actually sped up (she went all the way up to 35 mph)! But she was obviously too pissed to say anything about him because she never mentioned his presence. I was glad too because I didn't really want to discuss her stepbrother at the moment even if it was to mock him.

As we made our way to Star's Hollow, the conversation turned inevitably to our forthcoming trip. "I don't know how many times I can say this, but I'm compelled to say that this has to be one of the best experiences to ever happen to me. Only second to meeting Sandra Day O'Conner," Paris said as she slowed down to stop at one of her precious stop signs.

My eyebrows arched at this. "You met Sandra Day O'Conner? When? Where?"

Paris dismissed it with one hand as she continued driving. "Oh it was some time ago. I had to be fourteen or something. My father was hosting a charity event and she was the guest speaker for the night."

"Wow," I said. "And here I thought seeing the Star's Hollow mayor's hand was the biggest event of my life."

Paris smirked in a way that let me know that she was pleased to still be a teensy bit more privileged than me. It's hard to teach old dogs new tricks, I always say. "So how will your parents feel about this? Ecstatic, I presume."

"They'll pat me on the head and say, 'Well done' and then hand me some money to make up for the fact that they won't be seeing me off or bringing me home; basically for having no involvement in my life whatsoever. Then mother will rush off and spend some of her hard earned alimony on a Dior fur and dad will, no doubt, take his new money grubbing witch to San Tropez for the week."

"Wow."

There was a momentary silence. For obvious reasons, Mrs. Gellar and Mr. Gellar were not the best of friends these days. They couldn't be in the same room with each other let alone the same airport, no matter how big it was. And they were never really into Paris anyway as weird as it may sound. Sometimes, I really feel sorry for her. She's got all the social status and money in the world and she's usually unhappy and lonely. It makes me think about my own life and my relationship with my mother and how blessed I am to have her in my life. While we've never had to miss a meal, it is safe to say that we take a monthly drive to Hartford to shop for sales at Wal-mart. Even so, I would not trade my mother as my parent for all the wealth in the world. I look at how mom has problems with her own parents (who are upper-crust themselves) and I realize that materialism cannot guarantee you movie nights with your mother; only that you'll be able to afford a really big TV and a huge movie collection to watch by yourself.

"Well," Paris began, "I know I don't have to ask how your mother will react. She'll be totally supportive yet all smothery about it."

I laughed at the dead on description. "Of course. She'll want me to go and have all the fun in the world while she comes up with plans to hide in my suitcase as a stowaway. She'll be cool about it. She's like Roseanne-"

"Without the trailer trash dialogue,"

"Exactly."

We were about five minutes away from Star's Hollow when a sign said the speed limit was now thirty-five miles and hour. So of course, Paris went twenty "just to be on the safe side." I sighed as we inched our way into my hometown.

"What about Tristan's folks?"

Paris looked startled at the question. I was startled myself. I mean, I was the one who didn't want to talk about Tristan, and yet I was also the one bringing him up. I really don't know what made me ask about him. Honest.

"Why would you ask me something as ridiculous as that? Does it look like I would even care to know?"

"Can we please drop the drama queen 'tude for one minute? I know Tristan is difficult, but I'm sure he's got some feelings underneath it all."

Paris rolled her eyes and flipped her hair at the statement. "Yeah, he's got feelings alright. Buried underneath his wooden boy band façade, lies a heart of gold. I'm serious Rory, he's absolutely demented. I keep telling Boy Interrupted that being mental is not a trend these days but a serious issue which he needs to address."

"Oh come on," I countered, "he's got to have some sort of issue as to why he is that way."

Paris shrugged. "The boy and I barely speak. He lives in the East Wing and I live in the West."

"Do you share the Oval Office?" I joked.

"Har har. I'm serious. I don't know much about his family except that they are all a bunch of liars and thieves. I mean look how his scarlet mother has clamped herself onto my dad breaking up a perfectly fine marriage in the process."

Telling her that it took two to do the horizontal Macarena was not necessary to bring up because no one should be pulled out of the early stages of denial. Everyone comes to their senses in their own time.

"Why are you taking his side anyway?" she asked accusingly.

Was that what I was doing, I wondered? No, of course not, though I couldn't stop a slight blush from appearing on my cheeks. I was absolutely _not_ sticking up for Tristan Dugray. And I told her this. "I'm not taking his side. I was just curious is all. I mean you haven't talked much about…everything since they married. I just thought that you would have tried to mend fences now."

Paris snorted. "Whatever."

"Don't you even want to try and make an effort to understand him? I hate to say this, but as of now he is your step-brother."

"Never! If I haven't spoken of this hideous sacrilegious union, it's because I'm trying to forget that it exists. I pray everyday that this is some sort of sordid nightmare via God because I didn't drop a couple of coins in the Salvation Army bucket last Christmas. And if you ask me, I'm not surprised he acts the way he does. His mother is a total lush which explains his inability to commit to a relationship, tell the truth, and his failure to throw himself off of a balcony. And according to Mommy Deranged her little poopsie can do no wrong. He asks for a Mazaradi, they give it to him. I ask for a Mercedes LS and they ask me where my sense of frugality is. He brings home a B and they break open the 1920 Chianti. I bring home straight A's and I'm an over achiever and of _course_ I can't have wine to celebrate. Am I crazy? I'm underage."

"Needed that rant huh?"

"Oh yeah…" She sighed as she pulled off to my house. As she shut off the engine, I saw the clear hurt and betrayal in his face. "It's so unfair. He gets everything and all I get is a reproachful look from father like, 'Why can't you be like him and why can't you stop torturing him? Don't you see how hard his life has been?' _His _life? _Hard_? And from _her_ I get, 'Thank _God_ I don't have you as flesh and blood. You're absolutely hideous in every way.' That's why I love going to Chilton. That's my terrain. There, he's the trouble maker and I'm the saint. And I get all the credit that I deserve. But even that's diluted somewhat because he is such a loser but he's still Boy Wonder to everyone else. And I work my butt off and I can't even get a proper date-not that I would want one because Chilton boys are so completely overrated. And yet…" she trailed off. I knew there was something else she wanted to say but I didn't want to press her.

So I pressed her.

"And yet?" I repeated softly. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

In a gesture that was created by Paris, she pulled her back from her face, shook her head as if to clear away the cobs, and sighed. "No. It's nothing. Thanks for letting me go postal. I needed that."

I pulled her in for a hug. Though I was curious from her lack of sharing, I wasn't going to let that stand in the way. "Everything is going to be great. You'll see."

We broke apart and the steely Paris that I know and love was back once more. It was as if nothing happened (though maybe that wasn't such a good thing.) I opened my book bag to fish out my keys and added, "Besides, I think that Australia is the perfect vice for you to get your mind off of all of this stuff going on. Like you said, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. And I for one can't wait to see all that clear blue water."

"True," she agreed. "And we could go visit the Sydney Opera House! And maybe if we have a little time off, we an go visit Perth-you know when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon, he could see the lights in Perth or something to that effect."

Seeing that she was okay for the moment, I nodded and opened the car door. "Okay then. So tonight at seven. Your place right?"

"Yeah. You want me to pick you up?"

"Nope. You just drove me home, no need to come back. I'll ask mom for the car tonight."

She shrugged as I shut the door, said goodbye, and drove off. I watched for a moment as her car rounded the corner and then headed for my mailbox. I took out the one piece of mail that was in big white envelope with my school's name on it. It was finally sinking in. I was a Jr. Goodwill Delegate and I was going to Australia. _I was going to Australia._

All of the sudden, life seemed full of possibilities. With a little squeal, I ran the short path to my house and unlocked the door. As I stepped inside, I once again thanked God that I had such a nice home with a good mother. I dropped my bag on the floor and headed for the living room with the envelope. Sitting down on the couch I noticed the coffee table was covered by a large pizza box and canned sodas. Mom often forgot to clear away a mess immediately after making one. Sometimes it feels like I'm the mother and mom is the daughter.

After clearing off the coffee table, I settled on the couch once more and opened the envelope. Dean Whitley's assistant was thorough, for everything was there. " 'Your packet should include the following:' " I said loudly as I looked at the printed checklist sheet that was the first page of the packet. " 'Permission slip, delegate objectives, Chilton rules, competition regulations, housing information, background history of Goodwill, necessities list…' "

And it went on and on. It looked like I would be reading for the entire summer (especially if Paris had her way and I knew she would), which wasn't too bad since I don't mind reading anyway. I was on the fourth page when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"So, tell me, how was your first day of Schizoid for beginners?"

"Hi Lane,"

Lane Kim is the other best friend I was telling you about. I knew her way before I knew Paris. She's Korean, beautiful (she feels differently), and is always fun to be around. I really can't say enough about her as she's been there though thick and thin everything else in between) and probably knows more about music than anyone in the universe.

"So?"

"Well, for starters it's really not that big of a deal. It's kind of boring actually."

"You mean you didn't get to hear about people's fear of cookies and tell them how it stems from their childhood trauma of watching the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street because they were latch key kids and had to be raised by the torturous hand of PBS?"

"No, that's next week's lesson."

"Drat."

"I know. But we did learn all about the definition of psychology and how it's linked with biology. Something about the hormones and chemical imbalances. I'm not quite sure."

"In other words, you won't be charging astronomical fees to Marilyn Manson anytime soon."

"Pretty much. But I do get extra sleep time."

"Wow," she said sounding slightly shocked. "I don't know whether to be impressed by your casual attitude towards your education or that you're thinking about doing what the rest of us normal kids do in class. I think I'm proud."

"I'm glad that I could please you. Next stop: street vending school."

"Too true. Anyway in an attempt to show my mother that you're not a child of the corn and you're a really good person, I told her about your decision to take a summer class."

"Backfired huh?"

"Big time. I tried to explain to her that it was of your own volition to take a class and that you hadn't failed anything. Then I told her it was a psychology course."

"Let me guess…"

"She said people don't need psychology, they need Jesus."

"Wow, she should sell that as a motto to the Christian Coalition. She'd make millions," I joked.

Mrs. Kim hates me-or at least the idea of me. She's totally strict and a big time Christian (not that there's anything wrong with that). And she doesn't like the fact that Lane and I are best friends. My mom was an unwedded sixteen year-old when she had me and she moved to Star's Hollow to escape her parents and their rigid upbringing. Most of the town's people love her, but a lot of the traditionalists weren't thrilled with the idea (I live in a very small and old fashioned town; so small that you could ride through the entire place in ten minutes) and Mrs. Kim was one of them. She's convinced that even knowing me by association will turn Lane into a crack addicted whore who'll have the government taking care of her fatherless children. She's discouraged the friendship every day of its existence. No matter how much I try to tell her that I was not raised by a harlot, she refuses to budge. All of her rules drive Lane crazy, which is why Lane rebels (secretly) against her mother's wishes. She hides everything-from her music to her choice of clothing-that's not Mrs. Kim approved.

Truthfully speaking, it's Lane who's the worldly and disobedient daughter, where as I'm, for the most part, truthful with my mother and pretty much follow whatever she says. It just goes to show you that being a Nazi parent has the opposite effect of how you would like your children to turn out.

"Anything else besides drool happen today?"

Instead of Australia, the first thing that came to my mind was Tristan and the non-kiss that happened by the lockers that morning. But I couldn't talk about it. Not yet, anyway. Not even to Lane. I didn't know why I didn't want to talk about it. If it wasn't that big a deal and nothing happened then I could tell my best friend. Right? Wrong. So I told Lane my safe news.

"Well, I just found out that I'm going to Australia today."

A scream came through the receiver, threatening to bust out my ear drum. "WHAT? YOU'RE GOING TO WHERE?"

"If you keep screaming in my ear like that, I'll have to go the emergency room."

There was heavy breathing on the other end and then another short scream away from the phone. Then, "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm done with the screaming. But _Australia_? That's every girl's fantasy to be on the most beautiful continent in the world, soaking up the sun watching cute surfers wearing those itty bitty swim trunks riding the waves…How are you going?"

"By bird."

"Ha ha. Rory, I'm serious."

"So am I. Actually it's a pterodactyl. You know, nothing but the best for Chilton students.

"Those are extinct."

"Yes, but according to Dean Whitley, money gets you anything-even prehistoric animals."

"Rory," she said impatiently.

So I filled Lane on everything (well, not everything) and ten minutes later she was still on the subject like I knew she would be.

"This is a once in a life time opportunity and you're so blasé about it. Why do good things always happen to blasé people? You get to the best place on earth, possibly the planet, and I get stuck going to Bible camp for the summer in good ol' Boston. It's completely unfair."

"Look at it this way, at least you won't be guaranteed a life of damnation like the rest of us sinners who aren't attending Bible camp."

"How can you even joke about this at my expense? I'm really hurt."

"I'm sorry Lane. I'll bring you back a souvenir. How's that sound?"

"You mean you'll bring me back a surf board?"

"A little too expensive."

"A surfer?"

"A little too unreasonable. Besides, what about Henry?"

"Why think about Henry at a time like this? Henry be dammed."

"Lane!"

"Okay, okay. I'll settle for pictures of both."

"Done."

"And a kangaroo stuffed animal."

"Okay…"

"Because it's better to have one from it's native land."

"Ah…I see your logic. I think."

"And an aboriginal flag and-"

"Why the flag?"

"It's anti-establishment."

"You rebel you."

"And last but not least, you have to video tape every single moment of your time there."

"Anything else J-lo?"

"That's all. You wanna hang out tonight and celebrate your success?"

"Can't," I said with disappointed. "I have to _powwow_, as Paris puts it, with her and the other two people in the group tonight."

"What a bummer. Who are the other two people? You never told me."

I hesitated for a moment.

"Rory?"

"Yeah, I'm here. It's a girl name Aliana Douglas. She'll be a junior like us. And Tristan Dugray," I added speedily (and reluctantly).

As I knew she would, Lane gasped and dropped the receiver and the picked it up again. "Tristan Dugray as in that hunky blond who calls you Mary all the time?"

"Wow," was all she said.

"Yeah. If anything he's the one person that will make this trip a living hell."

"He's still unbearable?"

"Definitely."

"You're so lucky. You get to go to a gorgeous place in the company of a gorgeous guy…"

"Hello? Did you not just hear me say unbearable?"

"Sure. But unbearable doesn't take away from gorgeousness. I mean, is it safe to say that the Gallagher brothers are unbearable? Of course. But they're also eye candy."

"Ew. I'll pretend that I didn't hear you say that."

"Okay, so that's my personal taste, but you have to admit that Tristan has that universal appeal. Think about it…"

I stopped paying attention to her babbling for a moment and started to think about all the things that I didn't want to think about. But upon Lane broaching the subject, I realized that I would have to think about these things. For the sanity of my mind and spirit. And I had to do it soon, like before we went to another continent. The only baggage I wanted to be carrying was my Samsonite suitcase.

"…And any moment now, I know that I'm going to wake up and I'll be you riding those fair dinkum waves."

"This is _not_ a recreational trip Lane," I said repeating the words of Dean Whitley. "We'll be working extremely hard."

"Yes, but look at _where_ you'll be working extremely hard. In-"

"Australia. We know. Look, I have to go. I wanna enjoy it for a moment before I have to put up with Lucy and her bossy ways."

"Fine, but call me later and give me all the sordid details Charlie."

"Will do."

"AUSTRALIA!"

"I know," I said. Hanging up the phone, I could hear her let out a final scream which made me feel better about everything. Lane always makes you walk away with a positive outlook on things."

The clock on the VCR said one-thirty. I had way too much time on my hands before the meeting. I contemplated going to see my mother at the inn, but thought against it as this was their busiest season. I didn't want to bother her while she was running around although I knew she wouldn't mind. I would have walked Main St. but a running into Dean was more than likely since he worked in the grocery store on the block. This also ruled out Luke's. Not that I would mind going in there. Luke is great. A little surly and a bit of a coffee Nazi (he's all about eating healthy and balanced-meals whatever that means) but still pretty cool. But it's also a hot spot for most of the town's people. And naturally they would want know what's going on with me and Dean and I didn't want to see all the sympathetic looks and inquisitive expressions. I knew people like Mr. Taylor and Babette meant well, but I really wasn't in the mood for that either.

I was in the middle of debating on whether a nap would do me some good after all, when the door open and my mother came in.

"Ah, my daughter, the picture of a Jane Austen book."

"Hi mom," I said.

"I'm thinking Elizabeth Bennett because she was girl power for the nineteenth century. What do you think?"

"As long as I don't have to wear a corset."

"See? I told you."

She walked over to the couch and plopped down beside me and looked at the cleaned coffee table. She looked at me with that twinkle in her eye, which almost always means that she has something incredibly witty to say. "You didn't like my newly decorated coffee table?"

"Sure, but I was also worried that Mr. and Mrs. Roach and little Speedy would enjoy it as well."

"Well, I always say the more the merrier."

"That's your reality. The rest of normal society prefers their Raisin Bran to actually contain raisins and not some sort of moving bit in them."

"It's my fault isn't it?" she said with mock horror and put her hand over heart. "I raised you to be socially dysfunctional and prejudice. Damn. I should have gotten you that hamster after all.

I rolled my eyes but laughed anyway. There was a moment of comfortable silence before mom asked, "So, dare I ask, how was your first day of shrink class? Did you get to analyze the dreams of people and tell them that the only room they'll ever see again will be white and padded?'

I raised my eyebrows at that. "Lane sort of asked the same thing."

"Hey, inquiring minds want the low down," she said as she shrugged."

Putting the topic on hold for a moment, I looked at her curiously. She wasn't supposed to be home at this time. "What are you doing here anyway? You usually have lunch at two with Sooks at Luke's."

"What, I can't come home to see my lovely daughter before returning to the dungeon?"

"Of course, but you don't usually come home for lunch, so what gives?"

"Fine, be that way," she said as she pinched my nose, "But I just want to point out to you that your accusations of my having ulterior motives really hurts me to no end."

"Yes, yes, we know. You victim, me evil."

"Okay, Lane came bursting through the inn telling me that you had something really important to tell me and that I should be really proud of you. So, monkey, don't hold back. I gave up Luke's coffee for this news. It better be good."

"Lane has a big mouth sometimes."

Mom laughed, her eyes sparkling again. "Which is fine with me. It must be really good then."

Not wanting to wait any longer, because I really couldn't wait to tell my mother about it anyway, I told her. "I've been chosen for the Goodwill competition."

She let out a huge scream which shook my the house. The she jumped up on the couch and started bouncing. "You mean you're going to Australia?"

Her energy was contagious. I began to jump up and down as well. "YES! Can you believe it? They chose me?"

Suddenly I was bouncing and being hugged at the same time. "Of course I can believe it! You're the smartest person I know. They'd be idiots to not pick you. My baby's going to an international competition. Take that Chelsea Clinton. Oh my gosh! We gotta get you new clothes! You need a lap top! Film, luggage, money! We have so much to do but so little time."

Mom was still bouncing but I had long stopped by then. "Mom calm, down. I don't leave until August. It's going to be okay."

She wasn't listening. She stopped jumping then put her hands dramatically over her face. "Oh God! We need money! Lots of it." She looked at me thoughtfully. "You think it's too late for me to make a career as a call girl? Maybe I can snag a few bucks that way."

"Mom, it's an all expense paid trip. I'll only need a little spending cash for souvenirs and stuff. I'm not moving there."

My mom finally sat down on the couch and gave me one of her looks that always implied she knew I was hiding something. "Okay Miss Scrooge. Why aren't you happy about this? You're going to Australia! I thought this was what you wanted."

I sighed. I guess if there was anyone I could talk to about this whole issue I was having, my mother would definitely be it. "I am excited. I know that this is amazing opportunity for me mom. But, it's going to be totally wasted on the fact that Tristan Dugray is coming too."

Mom let out a short whistle and laid back. "Oh. I see. Well, okay. But you don't have to let Tristan Dugray stop from getting the full experience of traveling abroad. Besides, I thought you guys were pretty cool these days."

"We were trying to be at first. But you know, a leopard can't change it's spots."

"Is he still bothering you? Because if he is, let me know and I'll go up there and tell him exactly how I feel about him myself."

I laughed at that.

"No I'm serious. I've been watching Smackdown on Thursdays and let me assure you that I do smell what the Rock is cooking. I've learned a few things and I'm not afraid to try it on this little punk. Just say the words and I'll take him on."

I couldn't stop laughing at the thought of my mother giving Tristan a serious whipping. After calming down I assured her it wasn't necessary. "I don't think violence of any kind here will help the situation."

"Are you saying that you provoke him at times?"

I narrowed my eyes at the comment and was about to say something snippy but I realized that there was some truth in it. I took the couch pillow and covered my face with it. "Mom, I'm so stupid. It's not like I sit there and say, 'Oh Tristan, come and torture me,' but, I'm not entirely sure whether or not I send mixed signals to him."

"You're talking about the kiss then?"

_Which one?_ I thought to myself.

My mother's eyebrows went up. "You mean there was more than one?"

Damn! I definitely needed some coffee; I was beginning to speak my thoughts aloud. There was two ways to handle the situation. I could lie to my mother and tell her no. Or, I could just tell her the truth. I chose truth because my mother always knows when I'm lying and if she didn't hear it from me she would hear from somewhere else, it would hurt her that I didn't feel like I could come to her about it.

"Unfortunately," I replied. "It happened this morning before class. But this time mom it wasn't me."

"Wait," she said putting up a hand in protest and her facial expressions confused. "Was it you or not you? Or was it an out of body experience?"

"No, I mean it was me, but I didn't initiate anything! I was minding my business just putting my books away and he approached me. And of course we had our little verbal abuse game and then all of the sudden I was-"

"In his arms and sucking face?" she finished for me.

"Something like that," I said giving her a disgusted look.

"So did he beat you down with a billiard stick and force you to kiss him?"

"No, but he didn't really give me a choice. He trapped me! And wouldn't let me get away from him."

"And so that was when you knew that it was either kiss the bastard or just," she said with a little know-it-all smirk that I hate.

"Who's side are you on anyway Benedict?" I asked ready to drop this conversation and my mother on the floor.

Mom turned serious. "You know that I'm always on your side. Always. But Rory, this…thing between you two has been going on since you've entered Chilton. Is it possible, and don't beat me up for asking, that you want this thing just as much as he wants you?"

I was so shocked by her question, I just blinked at her for a moment. Then rage, set in. How dare she ask such a thing? How dare she believe that I…Oooh the nerve! "Look, I do not like that brat-nosed, Dawson's Creek wanna-be, J. Crew tailing, arrogant, jerk!"

"But-"

"The only time I'm think about him is when I'm consider which choice of vehicle to run him over with. Today it's a Mac truck," I said testily as I got up off the sofa.

"Wait-"

"This is supposed to be the trip of all trips, the crème de la crème of opportunities, and I have to share it with _him_. And on top of that, my mother things that I'm consorting with the enemy!."

"Rory I-"

"Just save it. I have to go to Paris' anyway. Don't wait up."

On the way out I slammed the door, leaving my mother sitting in the same spot. I'm sure she was stunned. I don't think that I'd ever spoken to her like that before. Shame was swelling inside of my heart.

Can we say overreacting much? Geez! Someone might have thought it was the end of the world or something and I had just found out.

Mom has a way of getting to the point of the matter. She always has. I got in the car and sat down, I put the key in the ignition and than sat back for a moment just staring at the roof of the car. Why was I so mad? Was it because deep down I knew she was right?

"No," I told myself, "she is way off! I do _not_ like Tristan Dugray. This about the Goodwill competition and nothing else. Focus up Rory!"

With that little pep, talk out the way, I dug my heels in so to speak, and drove to what I was sure would be a doomed fate.


	4. And When Is This Day Going To End?

Chapter 3 

And When Is This Day Going To End?  
  
So, here's the deal: I've always prided myself on the fact that I am totally a good daughter. I don't think that I've ever given my mom a reason to complain about anything (at least she's never let on that I have) and I've always done everything that she's asked me to do. I don't smoke, drink, have sex with the entire football team, and there is nothing I really would hide from my mother. I know that I can tell her anything and she wouldn't judge me. So the fact that I would talk to her that way really made me stop for a moment and think about why I was so on the defensive. Let's face it: I'm not Erica Kane and she is certainly no Mona. I know how to take advice. Mom was only trying to help and, as always, she did it the right way.  
  


Why are good mothers always so good and...right?  
  


The fact that mom picked up on the truth should have made me glad that it was all out in the open. I admit it okay? I AM ATTRACTED TO TRISTAN DUGRAY! It felt a little good to say that. It felt really good actually. Like I was carrying around a dirty little secret anymore. But that didn't mean that I was saying I had feelings for him. Let me put it this way: Sure, we all think that Aidan guy from All My Children is sexy and all manly, but I'm sure we can all agree that he can't act for spit. Well, sure I think that Tristan is hot- definitely not blind or anything-but that doesn't mean that I want to have some torrid affair. This is not One Tree Hill. The whole good girl with bad guy thing is not my style to tell you the truth. And this is really what it all comes down to. If you don't have the personality or the means to an end, it doesn't matter what you look like.  
  


I had gotten about five minutes away from my house when I realized that my mother would need the car to drive back to work. And I very well couldn't leave her stranded. It wasn't even time to go to Paris' yet. And despite the fact that I had just admitted to being attracted to Tristan didn't equate to spending any more time with him than I already had to or even Paris for that matter. She's my best friend and all and I love her to death, but when Paris is on win mode, she's also on Nazi mode, which makes her more than just a little scary.  
  


As I pulled up to my driveway I saw my mother standing on the steps, her arms crossed with a know-it-all grin that sometimes annoyed me to no end. How did she always know how things were going to turn out? How did she know that I would be back? It's like she's what Miss Cleo was trying to do but never had the actual talent to achieve.  
  


As I eased the car into the driveway then turned off the ignition, she came down the short set of stairs and strolled over the car far more relaxed than I was at the moment. 

"Are we done with the tantrums Shannon?" my mother asked, once again smugly.  
  


I couldn't help but role my eyes. "You don't have to say it. You don't have to say it. I'm a jerk, a major one at that I know."  
She crossed her arms and a pensive look came across her face. "You're right. You were a jerk. And I don't know how I feel about that because at the end of the day, your behavior is a reflection of me. So I'm wondering, did I raise you to be that way or have I been allowing you to spend too much time with Paris and not enough time with me?"  
  


"Touché," was all I said as I looked at how pretty the fence was on our porch.  
  


"So," she said as she opened the car door and gracefully slid inside. "Are you ready to talk about this little issue we're having? Because if this is how you're going to act about you and Tristan you have to ask yourself if you can really going to another continent with him for a few months."  
  


"I'm sorry for overreacting," I said finally looking at her and trying to avoid the inevitable for as long as possible.  
  


"That's nice, but you know I forgave you for that the moment you ran out the house so stop trying to change the subject."  
  


"ARGGHH! I don't know! I honestly don't know how I feel. I've spent my whole entire time hating that boy because he's made my life miserable and now all of the sudden it's like he's this person with feelings. I don't know how to cope with that."  
  


"Okay, let me ask you this question and you have to answer it truthfully. I'm serious. Is he the reason why you possibly didn't fit with Dean anymore?"  
  


I looked at mom completely horrified. Was she trying to ask me if I was some sort of slut? Was she saying that I was harboring feelings for one man while I was with another?  
  


"How about before you answer, you try and think about it real hard. Ask yourself deep down, when you were with Dean-who at one point you swore was it for you and was the love of you life and that you could never be with anyone but him-that when Tristan came on to the scene, despite the fact that he was giving you a hard time you were attracted to him because you saw something more. Perhaps it was something that he didn't even see in himself. This could even explain why he likes you so much. "  
  


"I hate when you make sense, I just want you to know that."  
  


She tilted her head back and looked at me sideways. "Well, what is your conclusion?"  
  


I sighed knowing what the answer really was. "Okay, so let's just say that I was going along with life at Chilton happy that I was with someone who loved me and who I could soundboard to about how crappy my existence was at my new academic institution. And let's just say that I was perfectly fine with the way things were despite the fact that everyone, it seemed, hated the very sight of me. And maybe, just maybe, I was slightly annoyed by this guy who was most definitely the hottest guy in school, so hot that Paris who is boy challenged even liked him. There could have been a possibility that I was intrigued by him because he spent so much time tormenting me and giving me all of this attention that I suppose could be translated in to sexual tension between the two of us. But if all of that happened to be true, doesn't that make me some sort of masochistic, hodge-podge daft, who is slightly insane?"  
  


Mom pulled me into a much-needed hug. I guess she saw the agony on my face because she began to rub my back; my favorite vice that keeps me calm. "Oh baby, if I had an idea of how the matters of the heart worked, you better believe that I'd making a fortune off of it and we'd never have to worry about money again. But unfortunately, I don't. All I can say to you is that I don't think that you did anything that anyone else hasn't done at one point in his or her life. It's okay to be conflicted sometimes. That's how we learn."  
  


"But I don't want to learn this way." There was silence for a moment as we both thought about different things. "You know what Dean said to me the day we broke up? He said that I was a hypocrite. I went around preaching about how every couple should be as committed as possible to each other. They should never let another come in between them. Then, he said it broke his heart to know that I had given mine away to a person who could never deserve me and that I had lowered my standards for someone who would eventually use me."  
  


I pulled back from her and began to wipe the tears from my face. "Mom, I swear, all I could think of in that moment was to deny it all. I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about. But he already knew what I wasn't willing to see because within me, II automatically knew he was talking about Tristan. And that's when I should have known."  
  


"So, in retrospect, the reason why you're holding off from Tristan now is because you feel guilty that he played a small part in you and Dean's demise, and it was a small part," she said as I tried to protest. "Rory, there were problems already brewing before Tristan came along. If anything, he was a catalyst, but he wasn't the reason."  
  


And I knew that. But it still didn't make the situation any better. "Right now all I want to do is get through this summer. Doing this Goodwill thing is really important to me. I need to start focusing up if I'm going to be a help to the team, and trust me when I tell you that Paris will kill me if I don't follow through. There will be plenty of time to deal with my boy issues after all of this is over."  
  


Mom smothered me with a hug again. "I'm so proud of you Rory. Most girls your age aren't making school a top priority. They're too busy trying to Britnify themselves so they can get a boy to like them, but not my kiddo. You're putting your work first, and that's what you should be doing. But I want you to promise me something. "  


"What's that?" I asked. The tension that had been there fifteen minutes before in our living room was now gone. Everything was right with the world, at least in the Gilmore Girls' home.  


I want you to promise me that you're going to come to me whenever you feel like you need to talk. I don't care what it is. I don't need to feel like an older mother who can't connect with her child. I still want you be able to use me as your soundboard whenever you need to. Promise me that we'll always be like this."  
  


My mother sounded more sentimental then usual and I was wondering what brought on the sudden urgency to be Sharon and Kelly Osbourne. I looked at her a little strangely and then shrugged. "Of course I do. I know that I can talk to you about anything. That's what makes you so great mom."  


She smiled brightly then tapped her lap. Looking at her watch she realized that it was time for her to get back to work. "I'm going to head back to the inn then I should be back around five. So if you need the car when I come home, just go on and take it."  
  


I nodded as I opened the driver's side door and hopped out. "Will do. I so don't want to be late for this meeting. Paris will have more than my head if I don't show up punctual and ready to absorb the knowledge."  
  


"Well, don't forget to absorb some fun while you're at it. How many chances do you get to go Australia?" she said as she turned on the ignition and strapped in her seatbelt. "My advice is to ignore Paris when necessary for your health. Don't let her work you to death. Slavery is over."  
  


"Right."  
  


"Have fun!"  
  


I waved to mom as she pulled out of our drive way and on to the road. With one last push of the horn, she was off and once again I was left alone to ponder my current situation.  


It was only two o'clock I noticed as I looked at the wall on the desk near the front door. At this point, all I could do was sleep and hope that my dreams were slightly less hellish then what was going on in my reality.  
  


I climbed upstairs to my bed just taking my time along the way. As soon as I hit my pillow it felt like I was safe and away from everything that was weighing me down. I closed my eyes, thought once more about how great my mother was and how I was really blessed, then drifted away peacefully.  
  
A/N: I know that it's been ages since I've updated but I've been going through my stages lately of what I wanted to do with everything that was going on around me. Plus, I'm back in college now and that still took some getting used to. I would like to say that I'm going to try to update weekly. That's what I would like to say; I also know that this might not happen so I won't promise anything. Right now, this chapter was the hardest one for me to do because I wasn't sure if it was too soon, but in the end, I thought that it was the right choice to do it now because I want to move this story along to Australia ASAP. I hope you all liked it. And thanks for being patient, and thanks for the reviews so far.


	5. Is This Really Going To Work?

Chapter 4

_Is This Really Going To Work?_

The thing about the east coast in the summer is that it's the most beautiful place in the country; especially in the northeastern part of the state. Rolling hills, picture-book meadows, and stormy sea cliffs hang on the balance of everything that is alive and in motion. I always think to myself, if I have to live in the United States, there isn't any other place in this country I would rather be then here on the east coast. California can keep its shark infested beaches and Arizona it's 'good air". Give me hot cocoa on a cold winters night, clam bakes, authentic Philly cheese steaks, and good ol'Yankee Nation.

Driving to Hartford was always a peaceful experience, especially when you had a lot on your mind. It was the perfect time to think about problems and come up with reasonable solutions. And let me tell you right now that I was having some serious problems.

Tristan _was_ going to Australia whether I liked it or not and that was that. I was going to have to live with it, deal with it, and then move on. But that didn't mean that I had to fall in to his merciless trap of insults, pettiness, or whatever seduction he was trying to pull on me in order to add a notch on his post. I was above that, after all. And Paris would have my head if she thought that I was even remotely harboring feelings for the "miscreant" as she liked to call him.

I was ready to focus all of my energies on this wonderful opportunity that was coming my way. It was time for me to stop repeating myself and mulling over the same issues. Nothing was going to change and it wasn't good for my health or for my mother's.

The Jeep was in full summer mode with the cover down and radio blasting to classic Dave Matthews Band. I was feeling extremely better about the whole situation as I passed the 'Welcome to Hartford' sign. A few more minutes went by as I cruised through downtown Hartford, Chilton, and then finally into an area that held some of the most beautiful homes I had ever seen in my life (which is to say I hadn't see a lot, just my grandparent's). The houses had started to spread out with rolling hills and green landscape in between them. I briefly wondered what it would be like to live in the lap of such luxury. To know that you would always have something grand to pass down to your family. Something you could say you made your stamp on. I guess it was something that I would never know as I didn't see myself marrying a trust fund baby. But even for practical, normal girls like me, it was still fun to think about it.

I finally spotted the fifty-five hundred square foot mansion know as Queen's Malvern (yes the richies up here seem to think there blood is blue enough where they can name their estates). This would be Paris' mother's house. A "gift" that she had received after the divorce. And the reason why Paris' father had a small heart attack upon the judge's decision.

I pulled into the driveway which boasted a fountain of Boticelliesque angels and water that sprouted from cherubic lips. It was a now or never kind of moment. Deciding that it was going to be now, I turned off the ignition, headed for the massive cherry wood doors with carvings of more angels and their heavenly trumpets. I had been to the house many times before but had never noticed the detailing of the door. It was ironic that these people who loved to place religious artifacts around their property were inside of said property cheating on each other and doing God knows what else. Life is funny.

I pushed the knocker back and forth on the door a few times before Paris opened up. Her face lit up which meant she just got finished fighting with her parents or Tristan. I had suddenly become her means of momentary escape. "Good. You're on time. We don't have a moment to waste."

"Paris, don't kill me!" I complained as she grabbed my arm and led me too the living room.

She completely ignored me however. "I'm gad you got here when you did. I was absolutely about to go nuts. Dad and that slut are off to San Tropez-I told you, by the way-for the week and I have to stay home with the Spawn of Satan all by myself. Thank God Justin is in some boarding school for whack jobs. "

She plopped down on the couch, her cheek suddenly red and her eyes a little darker than usual. "It hasn't been three hours and I'm already looking for a way to murder him."

I sighed and took my coat off. "Well, as long as you don't get it on your father's Aubosson, I'm sure he'll be willing to overlook it."

She snorted at that as I sat down next to her.

"Well, now that I know how step-daddy feels about me, I guess we can all breath a sigh of relief."

I turned my head towards the door. There was Tristan, who of course, heard what I said because I have the luck of a freaking thirteenth daughter of a thirteenth sister. He was also in nothing but sweat pants. Apparently he'd been working out.

I got up as quick as I could and faced him fully. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there."

"Obviously," he said with a smirk as he walked across the room.

I could feel Paris rolling her eyes to the back of my head. "Please. Don't apologize to him. He's an amoeba, and I doubt they've evolved the ability to emote."

"Paris," Tristan started, "Why don't you go out to the barn and finish producing our premium manure for our dear old mother's vegetable garden. No one can produce shit better than you."

"Bite me loser."

"Sorry, I don't practice bestiality."

"Okay," I said putting my finger in Tristan's face. "I've had it up to _here_ with both the both of you."

Paris jumped back at my outburst and looked at me as if I was insane, but I didn't care. I was going to put an end to this once and for all. "I am not traveling twenty-two hours on plane with you to another continent to hear you chew each other out the whole way. I can stay here in little old Connecticut for that! This is all BS. Either you find a way to not ruin my experience or I will pull out of this thing right now."

The fear in Paris' eyes was genuine. It had definitely replaced her anger that was brewing a few seconds before. "You can't do that Rory." She grabbed my hand. "I'll shut my mouth. I'll be nice, but for the love of God please don't back out. We need you and if I have to stay with him by myself I'll die a death worse than the wife from _The Black Cat_."

"Good riddance," Tristan said disgustedly and saluted her with his glass of water.

My eyes snapped toward him. "I mean it. I'll call Dean Whitley right now and tell him that I'm out. For the next three months, I want you to call a truce. That means no snide remarks, not insulting each other's parents, and no nasty gestures. It's time for you to grow up and stop acting selfish. You're not the only ones who are going to be there. And no one wants to here it twenty-four seven."

Tristan and Paris were locked in death grip of a staring competition. None was willing to look away first. "I supposed. I can rise to the occasion and be civil towards _that_ for a little while." Paris crossed her legs at that, and continued to stare her step brother down.

Tristan still looking at Paris replied, "Well, why not? But I think Paris and I can agree on one thing."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

There seemed to be some sort of unspoken understanding about what he was about to say which freaked me out a little more than it should have. But Paris got this strange look in her eye. Like she just found out she was going to be the next President. She gave an eerie smile and a little nod.

"Well, if we call truce in order to keep you on board. And we don't win this comp, you will be expected to suffer big time."

Not liking the sound of this at all I asked, "Just how big are we talking."

"You'll do our homework for two weeks when we get back home. Take it or leave it."

"That's ridiculous. I'm not going to do any such thing. And I can't believe that you'd go along with something like this Paris. What happened to our newfound friendship?"

Paris tossed her head back as only Paris can do it and raised her chin. "If I have to suffer, so do you."

I thought about it for a moment. Chilton homework is not the same as regular high school homework. You get about two hours worth for _each_ class. And that meant I would have to do two times as much. But that was neither here nor there. That was months away and I was positive that we would win. God, I hoped we would win by His mercy.

"Fine," I said assuredly. But on the inside I was nervous. There was no turning back now. We were really going to do this.

The doorbell rang before anyone else could say anything. Paris looked at her watch. "That's Aliana. She's three minutes late." She stormed off to answer the door and for the moment it was Tristan and me. Alone.

"So," I said trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

He crossed his legs in a very Sebastian Valmont way. Kind of sexy and just a little disturbing at the same time. Looking at me as if I were some sort of expensive desert waiting to be tasted he said, "A whole summer together in a foreign land. Are you sure you're going to be able to keep your hands off of me?"

"I'm sure that I can manage that," I replied rolling my eyes for emphasis.

Paris saved the day once more by strolling in with Aliana. She looked a little nervous to be in the room with the rest of us. As usual she was dressed in a preppy chic way. You know the types, khaki skirt, tailored blouse, side part in her short hair with a clip on the side. Every time I saw her she looked a little younger than the last.

"Aliana is here, as you can see. Three minutes late," Paris announced with a small tut.

The poor girl turned a few shades red. "I-I I'm sorry about that. I had to watch my little sister and my parents got home late for work. It won't happen again."

I gave Paris a don't-go-there-look and she sighed. "Fine. I guess we can excuse you just this once. "

Aliana smiled hesitantly. "I just wanted to say that I'm, uh, really happy to be working with all of you. I think we're going to do really well."

There was something mysterious about the girl and yet some incredibly innocent. Aliana made you want to protect her from everything including your self. Her chocolate eyes simply spoke purity.

I gave her an encouraging smile. "I think we'll do well too"

I turned toward Paris only to find her and Tristan locked in a furious gaze. "So," I said clearing my throat. Both turned to look at me a little startled at my voice and I gave them a warning glare to show that I meant business.

"Are we ready to go to Australia or what?"

I put my hand out then Tristan put his hand over mine. For the umpteenth time that day, I could feel something calling me towards his energy. Paris and Aliana followed next, but I swear I could only feel the weight of Tristan's warm hand covering my sweaty one.

I smiled again, but this time not confidently and said, "Well, then let's get to work."


	6. The Dingoes Ate My Sanity

Chapter 5

3, 2, 1...Lift Off

The two months before leaving for Australia were a bit hectic to say the least. I really couldn't tell who was more excited between my mother, Lane, and me. If they had the chance, I'm sure they would have found a way to pack their bodies into my suitcase. Mom was becoming unbearable but in a really cute June Cleaverish way. I hadn't even thought about what I was going to take before she had come home with new luggage courtesy of Target (her "baby had to travel with only the chicest accessories") and Lane had already given me a thirty page manifesto on what I must bring back and remember concerning Australia.

It seemed, too, that the whole town of Star's Hollow upon hearing about my summer plans, was keen on giving me advice about traveling outside of the states, though, half of the people in Star's Hollow hadn't been farther than Maine.

Luke's Advice: _Don't take any drinks from strangers. Foreign boys know that tourists are the most vulnerable and the most trusting. If you didn't pay for your coffee, chances are you're going to pay drinking it with your life or your innocence. You don't wanna end up in the filthy back of a truck transporting koala bears that will be someone's coat and you their new slave._

Sean's Advice_: Don't buy any souvenirs there. You can get the same ones in the states for cheaper. As a matter of fact, I've got a little bit of Aussie stash if you're looking for a good deal on postcards and boomerangs. Let me know, but keep it hush. I don't want my clientele exceeding the amount of goods if you know what I mean._

I can assure you I didn't and I don't. But then again, most conversations with Sean go this route.

Sookie's Advice: _Don't be afraid to try new foods. It's all part of the fun of traveling. But be sure to let the Aussie's know that their culinary skills are only second to yours truly. Tell them nicely though. You are, after all, a visitor. _

Jackson's Advice: _Don't listen to what everyone is telling you. Go there and have fun and see if you can sneak back a few Australian grown vegetables. Strictly for researching purposes, of course._

Of course, Jackson.

And even with all noteworthy advice, I hadn't even got to my grandparents who were bouncing off the walls with glee. Well, maybe that's not the correct maxim. My grandparents don't bounce (especially my grandmother whom would be the first to tell you that ladies "don't bounce, they float"), they swirl their champagne glasses in merriment. They'd been to Australia years ago as they explained to me at the second last Friday dinner I had with them before my flight.

"Rory, I just want to reiterate that I am extremely proud of you. You've managed to accomplish in one year what takes many almost a full four at Chilton," said my grandfather Richard to me as we took our seats at the huge dinner table in their Hartford mansion.

"I couldn't agree more," my grandmother said beaming. "And what better reward than to have a summer in a beautiful place. Australia is a very enchanting country."

"I thought it was a continent," my mom said looking slightly confused.

"It's both dear," my grandmother said looking slightly annoyed. That's the usual look she has on her face when it comes to my mother.

My mom smiled seeing this as a window of opportunity to make Grandma even more flustered. 'But how can it be both? You live on a continent but you live _in_ a country."

"Lorelai, that's absolutely ridiculous. Do you ever here people say I live on North America? No they say they live in it."

"Not me. I've always said on," Mom replied defiantly.

"But I was speaking of people who are somewhat relatively normal dear and we all know that you don't fall in that particular milieu now do you?"

"Some people would say that abnormality is a genetic trait wouldn't they mother?" Mom retorted in a mock Stepford daughter's voice.

The thing you have to know about the relationship between my mother and her parents is that–in the kindest description-is it's volatile. What with the fact that my mother has never been one to wear the J. Crew sweater vests with the Ralph Lauren boots and the minor issue of her getting pregnant at sixteen, you can say that they were none to pleased with her when she further shamed them by quitting high school, not going to college, and moving out of the house to live her life as an unwed teenaged mother.

Now, I bet you think that my grandparents were mad that she didn't abort me. Not at all. Sure they were not happy as staunch right-wingers that their daughter was now a statistic when she had been given absolutely all the best opportunities one could afford to give a child but, the fact that at least she had gotten pregnant by a boy whose lineage was as flawless as their own (but maybe not so much their level of good ol' Christian values) did much for their impetuous daughter's demoralized status. At least my father Cris wasn't Jewish, Black, or even worse, a nobody (this was before the time that being socially liberal was still a "hippie" thing to do) according to my grandparent's friends when the scandal broke.

The truth is, as you may have already guessed, my mother is a free spirit. And my grandparents believe the definition of free spirited is having Dick Cheney sit next to George Clooney. And she was never going to be the high society debutante that my mother was hoping for in her only child, regardless of whether she had me or not. In my mother's eyes her parents were out of touch with the times she was growing up in. My mother didn't mind having gay, biracial, or poor friends. Nor did she mind getting her belly button pierced (before it was the rage). And while my grandparents didn't really care about the color spectrum the way some of their _old_ money friends did, having a child who was not willing to conform to at least some of their society's rules was unthinkable. Think _Mommy Dearest_ with a little bit of _Dallas _except without the cowboy boots and Southfork Ranch.

Over the years, I think things have gotten better between them. Especially when my grandparents decided to pay for my Chilton tuition (my mom did not like that) quid pro quo we attend weekly family dinners every Friday (my mom definitely was saying a Twisted Sister "hell no" to that until I convinced her that it was a good deal all around). But mom and the grand parental units still like to go toe to toe on a regular basis. I think in a twisted way it's how they display affection. And I think it keeps my grandmother young.

So the argument brewing at the dinner table was pretty much the norm and no one was really batting an eye. But I knew that my grandma and mother passing back bitter insults could go on all night and was perfectly aware that my grandfather was on the verge of saying something. And believe me, when my grandfather is annoyed enough to intervene, it's not so nice for all parties involved.

"Grandma, is this a new dish?" I asked as innocently as possible avoiding my mother's glaring eye. If there was one thing my grandmother loved more than fighting with her daughter it was being a hostess, even if it was just a small family dinner.

"Why yes! How very astute of you Rory. Marjorie has made the most delicious duck a l'orange I've ever tasted. I'm thinking about putting it on menu for the next party Richard and I host."

"I'm sure if there were a Marjorie in your service she would be honored but seeing as how this week's maid is Mary Jane…well, you see where I'm going with this," my mother said with a roll of her eyes and a generous swig of her Sidecar.

Grandma choose to, thankfully, ignore the comment and focus her attentions back on me. "So Rory, have you thought about your itinerary yet for when you get to Australia?"

"A little bit, but I've been so busy with focusing on preparing for the Goodwill competition that I haven't paid too much attention to that aspect. I just don't know how much time we'll have to explore on our own."

"Well, of course the competition should come first but I hope they will give you enough personal time to do so. Australia is a beautiful place. It is full of history and hardworking people. There is too much to do there to waste your time being stuck in some hotel room , even if it's five stars. Maybe I should speak with McGregor Whitley on the matter. I'm sure he'd see it my way," Grandma said with a smile. I didn't doubt that if she wanted to twist anyone around her ear including the stoic Dean Whitley she could do it.

"Yes, Rory," Grandpa replied. "If you have the opportunity to visit some of the Aboriginal neighborhoods, you should really do so. Quite a moving and humbling experience I'd say."

Grandma was not feeling that idea when she swatted his suggestion away with her perfectly manicured hand and said, "I was speaking of more _metropolitan _activities Richard. Such as Parliament and definitely the Sydney Opera House. Besides the beautiful structure, the acoustics on the inside are simply like nothing I've experienced before in all my years as an opera attendee. Hearing_ La Traviata _resonating in that magnificent piece of architecture is almost a heavenly experience."

I guess having spent close to thirty-five years with Emily Gilmore there wasn't much she could do or say that shocked him. Grandma was by no means an unintelligent woman. She was just a bit indifferent to things that she felt weren't important to her. "Yes dear, but I believe that one cannot truly say they have visited Australia without embarking on a pilgrimage of sorts to meet the land's native inhabitants."

"There is no need to make this political Richard. She's not going to be the next Condoleeza for goodness sake."

My grandfather looked as if he were about to rebuttal but thought better of it. Instead he downed a glass of his cherry and asked for another round.

Mom clinked her fork down on her plate with a very non-approving snort which only made grandma even more irritated. "Mom, the trip _is_ about politics. We're sorry that sitting _in_ an air-conditioned building that sits _on_ some 'acquired' land, that just happened to be lying around with a few gazillion people already there who didn't seem to want it even though they'd been living there for a gazillion years, by us lovely people of European extract while listening to some of our more 'civilized' operas, like the one about the hooker who dies of consumption, isn't considered the epitome of political foie gras but that's life for ya."

"Lorelei, must you insist on making everything such an embittered diatribe? It's very unbecoming." My mother stuck out her tongue which Grandma missed when she turned her attentions to me. "I'm simply suggesting that Rory take the time to acquaint her self with the high-culture in Australia. For such a geographically disconnected continent, they certainly had their pulse on the map of modernity when Richard and I went in '90. American and English tourists were all the rage and the country was still in a frenzy over Diana and Charles' visit some years before that. Richard knew a few members of Parliament he had went to university with and we spent a lovely month there sailing on the Harbor and visiting the nooks and crannies that make up the country. Victoria was especially splendid. I've never met such friendlier people in all my travels then those living in terra australis."

"That sounds really lovely Grandma," I said sincerely. She always had the best stories about her and grandpa's adventures.

"Now who else is in this competition with you?" Grandfather asked after savoring another piece of his duck.

Damn! Just as I was beginning to get really good at pretending that certain people on the team were not really on the team, Grandfather had to bust my precious bubble of denial. "Paris Gellar," I said taking a sip of water in the process. Prolonging the inevitable seemed the safest route to go. You'll regrettably know why in a minute.

"Ah, the Gellar girl!" said Grandpa recognizing the last name as I knew he would. "She's one intelligent young lady. She used to work in my office for the summer as an intern of sorts. Sharp mind and very witty."

"Yes," my grandmother agreed, "She comes from good stock, though recent events between her mother and father might suggest an all together different tale I imagine. If their family would have been part of the Old Guard, I fear the scandal wouldn't have been so vociferous in nature but being _nouveau riche_ very rarely buys discretion in these parts."

"Oh, give me a break," was all my mother managed to say before asking Mary Jane for another Sidecar. It looked like I would be DD for tonight.

"Who else?" Grandmother asked eager to parley her knowledge of Hartford society to the rest of us.

"There is a sophomore. A girl named Aliana Douglas. Do you know her family?'

Grandma's eyebrow arched and her hands clamped around her wine glass with, what I thought was excitement. "Do I know her family? Anyone within a thirty-thousand mile radius knows who the Douglases are. I knew a few branches of the family lived in Hartford for political purposes but I had no idea that one of the children attended Chilton."

"Are they important?" I asked dumbly

'Rory, we're really going to have to do something about your social ineptitude. It's quite shocking."

"What Emily means Rory is that the Douglases are one of the most important families not just in America, but the in the world. Period," Grandfather said, not really clearing up the mystery of what made them so important."

I still wasn't making any connection as Douglas in New England can be a fairly common name. But when Grandmother said the names, Patrick Bomidille Douglas I, II, III, etc., I immediately understood and was a bit shocked. Aliana was so nice and unassuming; one never would have guessed her to be of any relation to _the_ Douglas'-the only Douglas clan that really mattered-as far as most people were concerned.

"Get out! But she's so normal and easy to talk to," I said, my eyes widening.

"Could someone fill me in because apparently I too am lacking in social ineptitude?" my mother asked a little flummoxed.

My grandmother took that as an opportunity to make a dig at mom. "Well, if someone would have finished high school like they should have you wouldn't be left with such feelings of inadequacy."

"Don't start mother," Mom said giving her a glare that meant business.

Here was my opportunity to use Aliana's history as a way to deflect my grandparents from asking me who the forth team member was. I silently thanked her ancestors for being apart of the American fabric and for being great conversation topics. So I turned to my mother and gave her the details.

"The first Patrick Douglas was born at the end of the eighteenth century. His mother was a slave and his father was the youngest son of the plantation owner in Newport News, Virginia. When Patrick turned 13, his paternal grandfather, and his two eldest sons died of syphilis. The mother had died at childbirth with Timothy and the father never remarried."

"I guess they were sharing more than booze and blood money huh?" mom laughed into her Sidecar.

Grandfather nodded curtly and continued the story. "Precisely. Patrick's father, Timothy was very much in love with Patrick's mother, a beautiful woman by all accounts-even those would not rather admit it admired her from afar-named Vanessa. At fifteen, she was next to the last of generations involved in the slave trade. Vanessa never forgot her native tongue from Nigeria and secretly taught her children the language and Nigerian customs, a crime at the time for any slave to do so. Vanessa was very resistant, as one would understand, to her new fate in a strange country. She had tried to escape many times and received harsh punishment but somehow she was spared her life and even her limbs. It was rumored that such was her beauty that no one could think to mar her perfection, but it really came down to Timothy She didn't realize that Timothy was protecting her. I suppose she could not help but fall in love with him after that. He was different than his father and brothers. The idea of slavery all together never appealed to his nature and upon falling in love with Vanessa, Timothy had become dangerously vocal about his abhorrence concerning the issue. After his father and sibling's death, Timothy, no longer willing to hide his love for Vanessa and ready to claim his first born son, did the ultimate taboo and sold off all his land and freed some two hundred slaves making sure they were able to get to the north."

"A man with a conscience," mom raised her glass in a mock salute. "I guess I can't hate him after all."

I could tell my mother was into the story and grandfather seeing her excitement continued. "The most important part of the earlier Douglas chronicles is that Vanessa and Timothy decided that they would marry. Of course that was forbidden but it was vital to Timothy that his two children-they had a little girl as well-have his last name as their father. Everyone knew that those children belonged to him but 'polite society' was willing to overlook that as it was a common thing for the men to do in those days. Well, imagine the surprise when the town became aware that one of the richest men in Virginia at the time was selling away all his assets. People started talking and correctly assumed that he was about to run away with his lover and children.

"Which obviously didn't make the good ol' boys do the happy dance," mom interjected.

"Correct," grandfather said. "Some of the men tried to prevent them from leaving but Timothy was a smart man. He and Vanessa knew the chances of people finding out their plans were more than likely so they anticipated what they would do. He had a few friends who had connections to the Underground Railroad and they were able to get him and his family out in time. They were able to flee to Canada where they could legally and publicly live their lives without much hassle."

"Well, that's a heartwarming story, but I don't see what any of this has to do with the family now," mom said.

"Well, once they arrived to Canada Timothy immediately decides that he's going to start a business. After all, the business of slavery may have been a disgusting practice, but it was a business nevertheless and Timothy was the son of a businessman and a very good one at that. He decides on tobacco because that's what he knew and the popularity of abolitionism was growing in the north and he figures people will be glad to know they aren't smoking tobacco that wasn't slave produced. The business is successful and Douglas Tobacco becomes a household name in Canada and in the northern parts of the states. Meanwhile, Timothy made sure that both of his children were educated and learning the business so that one day they could take over. By the time he was eighteen Patrick, the eldest child, was ready for college and had also become one of the brightest young abolitionists in the Americas. He and his father would often go on trips around the continent to speak against slavery. When Patrick graduated, his father turned the business over to him and his sister and Douglas Tobacco became Douglas Inc. when Patrick started taking the business into other lucrative fields. He single-handedly made the company a multi-million dollar business within two years time. He was smart, efficient and very creative. He could speak his mother's language, as well as French and Spanish and he used that to his advantage to make his company an international success and all the while the fact that he was a black man was never hidden. A lot of it might have had to do with his physical resemblance of his father but he never denied his African heritage. Not one time."

Mom let out a breath. "While, that kid must have tremendous pressure on her with all of these god-like people she's got swinging on her family tree." My eyes widened at my mother's comment and she winced.

"Wrong choice of words."

My grandmother pursed her lips as if to say,"_Yes, Lorelai. She, unlike others I know, understands what it means to live up to her family name._ " Instead, she said, "The point is, Lorelai, that the Douglas family took something that could have been tragic and turned it into something positive through hard work, loyalty, and determination. They did not let the status quo cease them from pursuing their dreams or following their hearts. It's a story that we could all live up to.

Mom rolled her eyes. "Not to rain on your flag waving parade here, but you have to admit that the advantage was that the person who started their company was by society's definition one of them, even if he was going against the grain of his time. If the situation would have been reversed, the story could have turned out differently."

"True, " grandfather conceded, "But you're missing the point once more Lorelai. Timothy was the only white male in the patriarchal line of the family until about twenty years ago when one of the Douglas IV's daughter married a British gentleman. One of the German transplants I believe who is of nobility. Despite the very relaxed laws of Canada the Douglas men and women chose to marry within the African-American race with a few Native-American marriages here and there. And now they are considered to be one of the first Black American dynasties. They easily bring in revenues of about three billion dollars with their companies. So yes, though their patriarch was indeed a 'good ol' boy' as you put it, after Douglas children took over, Douglas Inc. has been run by and only by the Douglas family who are by their verbal recognition, African-Americans. They have maintained the family business for over two-hundred and fifty years. Seventy-five percent of their employees are minorities and every year they win at least two or three awards for excellence in some area of the business or other."

Mom drained her Sidecar and smiled, "I stand corrected. It's a cool story. Must be kind of interesting to have that in your background as a teenager in this time."

"Your father and I have known the Douglases for years socially. Very warm and generous people. And all of them as beautiful as can be. God seems to smile on their clan from all sides."

"That's right. When a Douglas comes into a room, they command and recieve immediate respect from everyone. Whatever views a few narrow-minded people still hold on certain topics, they know better than to even contemplate them in their presence."

"I get it. So, in terms of American royalty they've pretty much written the book," Mom said after thanking Mary Jane for taking her plate.

"Absolutely," Grandma said with an enthusiastic nod. If there was thing my grandmother loved more than her antiques and jewelry, it was tracing important families and their pedigree. "If they aren't in the family business, they are doctors, journalists, lawyers. Not to mention their numerous political ties. Your little peer Aliana Douglas, is the product of Senator Hershel and Camille Douglas, M.D. If she's anything like her father or mother or all of her ancestors before her, she's bedrock and just the kind of person you want to associate yourself with Rory. For the past three decades the Douglases have attended Harvard, Yale, Oxford, or a top Canadian school. They are practically Ivy League legends. If you're looking for an advantage to get into Harvard, she's a person you want to make some ties to. I hear Aliana is grooming herself for Harvard as well."

"Or Yale," Grandfather pointed out. "But most likely Harvard. That's where her father met her mother you know."

"Or she could surprise us all and study in British Columbia as did many of her cousins," Grandma replied.

'Wow," mom laughed, "It's like the Stepford version of an NFL draft."

"Hmph," Grandma said with a short sniff of the air. "Well, I'm very sure I don't know what you mean, but I for one admire the young lady for wanting to carry on family tradition. There is nothing like following in the footsteps of your family.

"Unless your family happens to be slave owning Nazis who are hell bent on global genocide and racial superiority," mom joked.

"Oh, don't be so facetious Lorelai, you know what I mean. I'm referring to a person carrying on the positive and progressive traditions of a family. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, well's there nothing wrong with polka-dots either, but you don't see me following the trend just because everyone else is doing it."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"If we're all finished with dinner, shall we retire to the living room for a little R&R?"

Right on time grandfather. "That sounds great grandpa," I said standing up.

The rest of the evening went fairly well and I thought, this was one of the better dinners my family had. No one cried, walked out, or threatened a plague on anyone's household. All in all, I couldm't complain and we were almost through the night so I was praying for smooth sailing from here on out.

It was during the cocktails that things took a turn for worse when my grandmother spoke of a present she and grandpa had bought for me. "Rory you're just going to love it," Grandma exclaimed as she waved for Mary Jane to bring whatever it was to the room."

My mother's face went a little dark and her eyes narrowed in on her mother. "Mom that wasn't necessary to get Rory anything. We have it all covered."

"She's our grandchild Lorelai. Is there a particular rule in the guide to parenting that says the mother is only allow to lavish her progeny with gifts?" Grandma asked. She looked slightly offended, but I knew that she was just putting on a little dhow? Grandma was hardly offended by my mom's choices or views anymore.

"Really Grandpa, you didn't have to do anything. I have just about everything I need."

"Yes, well, let us be the judge of that," Grandma interjected before he could say anything.

Mary Jane suddenly appeared with Davies, the butler and what appeared to be the most beautiful luggage I'd ever seen in my life. A set of Hermes' luggage that any girl would die for. The outside was a buttered leather cover with tan accents and gold handles.

I clasped my hands together and couldn't help but run to it to touch what looked liked something Princess Diana would have carried. "It's so beautiful. You guys shouldn't have done that. But thank you!" I squealed.

"We thought it suited you Rory. It's very professional looking but chic and very lady like as well. You can't possibly go off to another place unprepared."

"Uh, yeah, over here," my mother interrupted me and grandmother's cooing. "Rory is not unprepared. I got her perfectly good luggage that didn't involve the slaughtering of innocent animals, from good old Target. So you'll just have to take it back."

I felt bad immediately because I knew my mother was so excited the day we went to pick out everything I would be taking with me. And she had put a pretty big dent in her savings to get me a full set of luggage. I loved what we picked together and I knew it wasn't right to accept such an extravagant gift, even if it was from my grandparents.

My grandmother, however, had a completely different opinion about the situation. "Lorelai I simply can't see why you're making such a big fuss over this. This is something Richard and I wanted to for Rory. We don't want her to go away looking like a ragamuffin. She's representing Chilton and our family! Surely you understand that however eco-friendly and frugal your choice was it's completely inappropriate for an adventure of this proportion."

Mom rolled her eyes and set down her glass. "You haven't even seen the luggage and you're already acting as if I brought it from some homeless guy who peed in it before selling it to me. Target has a perfectly respectable name with a great luggage isle."

Grandfather took a puff of his cigar and looked his daughter dead in the eye. "Yes, and I imagine it is right next to the isle for bleach and other household products."

My mother gave him one of her evil glares and stuck a hand on her hip. "Those pieces of carmelized meat practically scream, 'Look at me, look at me! See how rich and super indulgent my parents are? And just steal everything in here because we're loaded and there is always more of it wherever it came from.' You're practically putting a target on her head to get her stuff stolen! Rory is not carrying luggage that costs enough to feed an army and a bunch of starving children in Bombay just because you want her to look a certain way. Rory is not a Harford. Ho. She's a Star's Hollow girl. A Target girl."

Seeing that thngs were going to get worse, I tried to interject. "It's really okay Grandpa. I mean, mom is right. The stuff we got is really great too. Sturdy and aesthetically pleasing. Totally great for Australia if you ask me."

"See?" my mother said with a smirk.

"Oh stop placating your mother's feelings Rory by giving into her guilt trip. Whatever she brought can be returned and you'll travel off in the style that all of us Gilmores are accustomed too."

I was about to speak when my mom beat me to the punch to have it out with grandma. "Well, I'm her mother and that trumps just about everything with the exception of maybe Brad Pitt."

"Who?" my grandparents asked bewildered.

"Guys!" I shouted. "This is supposed to be a happy time. We're not supposed to be fighting. And if all of this is going to cause more drama then I'm just going to take two large plastic bags and no one will be able to say anything."

"The decision is up to you Rory. If you want to take your mother's inexpensive swags with you then feel free, but the decision should be left up to you and you only," my grandfather offered as the voice of reason.

I looked back and forth from my seething grandmother to my mother who had a look that said she fully expected me to side with her whether I wanted what my grandparents gave me or not. And grandfather was dead serious about me having what I wanted. Most people never thought him perceptive to female desires but he had his own way of knowing when I was lying.

"Well, honestly? Mom I love the bags you got me," I began.

"HA!" mom shouted with a fist in the air.

"But," I went on. "I do love these too. I could always use two sets of luggage. And two sets of luggage mean that I'll be able to alternate between traveling and there by cutting the wear and tear by about half."

Mom looked at me seething, but I refused to look her in the eye. I gave grandma and grandmother a hug and thanked them once more for the gifts.

Later on that night, in the car as we were driving home, I tried to make small talk with mom, but she was hell bent on giving me some serious Botox treatment. Her lips wouldn't even utter a sigh. Another week until lift off, but it seemed like I was never going to get out.

"I had to take them Mom. They would have been hurt, and then that would have been an even bigger deal than me not taking them," I said in a rush.

Mom looked at stonily and then continued her focus on the road. She knew I was right. She just didn't want to admit it.

"Okay what do I have to do to make it up to you? " I asked. In our family, when the tough get going, you opt for humor. "What about a koala teddy bear? A surf board key chain?"

Still, no reaction.

"Okay, what if I promise to bring you back that hot swimmer Ian Thorpe. I'll even keep him in those yellow Speedos with the Aussie flag on the side. How about that?"

I could see her lips forming into a small smile. She was still quiet, and I sat back in my seat, defeated.

"If you make the Speedos optional, I'll consider all forgiven."

I pretended to make a disgusting face, "Ew! That's gross...but you've got yourself a deal."

Satsified and smiling, I sat back in my seat and fumbled with the radio.

That's the awesome thing about me and my mom. We mend fences easily. Maybe this was a sign that all would go well. Hopefully?


End file.
